Free Another Life Altogether by Elaine Beale Page B

her,” a woman queuing in front of us said, pointing at me. “She knocked it down.”
    “Did she, now?” the checkout woman said, peering over at me.
    “It was an accident,” I said weakly, sheltering behind my father, who, much to my consternation, had so far failed to speak up for me. “I just wanted a packet of—”
    “Is that child your responsibility?” the checkout woman asked as if she were referring to a troublesome pet.
    “Yes, she’s my daughter,” my father answered sheepishly. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to—”
    “Well,” she interrupted, “we’ve had plenty of trouble with teenagers. Juvenile delinquents, the lot of them. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll understand our policy, sir. Any trouble and we have to ban them from the shop.”
    I looked beseechingly at my father. “Yes, well, I understand,” he said. “Seems like a reasonable policy.” And then he turned to me. “Go on, Jesse, why don’t you wait outside? I’ll not be long.”
    “But it was an accident,” I protested, my face burning. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “Outside,” he said, this time more firmly. “Do as the lady says.”
    I hated him in that moment, for his unwillingness to stand up for me or for himself, for his desperation to not cause a scene. I turned, kicking a path through the scattered boxes and stomping across the tiled floor, until I reached the door and flung it open.
    I stood in the middle of the street, waiting for him, not even bothering to seek shelter from the pouring rain. It seeped through my hair to my scalp, drizzled down my face, and worked over the collar of my raincoat to run down my neck. But I didn’t care as I stood staring intothe brightness of the Co-op window, willing my father to look over at me and witness my utter misery. “Are you all right?”
    I wiped my eyes against my sleeve before turning around to face the girl standing a few feet away from me. She was dressed in knee-high black platform boots, a black leather bomber jacket, and a pencil skirt, the kind that had a slit in the back so you could walk in it without falling over. Standing under a wide red umbrella, she wore her blond hair flicked into two wings that sat at the sides of her face like pulledback curtains, shiny with hairspray. Her eyes, outlined in deep black eyeliner, were an unusual and stunning shade of green. Her eyelashes were dark and exceptionally long. Her lips were broad and full, and moist with pale pink gloss. She was beautiful.
    “Waiting for someone?” Her voice was soft. As she spoke, she pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile.
    “For my dad. He’s inside.” I pointed toward the Co-op. My father was standing next to the checkout lady, smiling as she rang up the groceries.
    “You’re getting wet. Why don’t you come under here with me?” She gestured toward the shelter of her umbrella. “You’ll be a lot better off. You look like a drowned rat right now.” She let out a laugh, and I felt myself blush as I became aware of what a sight I must look. My face was probably red from crying, and my wet hair was plastered across my forehead and draped over my shoulders in sodden strands. I tried to push it back. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll dry out when you get home. But, really, you should come under here before you get worse. Come on, don’t be shy.”
    I moved toward the girl and slipped under her umbrella.
    “There, that’s better. Nice and cozy.” She sidled up close to me, and I found myself engulfed in the smell of damp leather and a musky perfume.
    “Can you hold this for a sec?” she asked, handing me her umbrella.
    I took it and watched as she rummaged around in one of her pockets, then brought out a packet of Benson & Hedges, shook out a cigarette, placed it in her mouth, and struck a match. The bristling smell of sulfur filled my nostrils, and as she held the flame to her cigarette she drew in a breath until it glowed orange, and dropped the match to